A Pair of Doves
by IconofSelfIndulgence
Summary: Girl with the Dragon Tattoo AU. When Edith Crawley gets asked to investigate the Crowborough family for an incident from 20 years ago, she finds help from an unexpected source. Warning: rape, violence, among other creepy things.
1. Prologue

A/N: I'm filing this under the category: the story no one knew they wanted. I was lying in bed during midterms week and listening to the David Fincher _Girl with the Dragon Tattoo _soundtrack, and so I imagined Thomas as a goth detective who was badass and cold and ... yep. So it's happening. I'll be trying to write both this and "Shake It Out" at the same time, so be on the lookout for updates of both.

But yeah. So this is the set-up, and it will follow the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo storyline... but with some twists and turns. Thomas is Lisbeth, and Edith is Blomkvist. I'll let you guys figure out who else is whom. (And then there's Jimmy, who fits in there somewhere... since Edith and Thomas won't actually get together. I mean, I guess we'll figure him out.)

* * *

_The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,_  
_To fight the horde, __singing and crying:  
_**_Valhalla, I am coming!_**

They were all insignificant.

He inhaled a deep drag of his cigarette, back resting against the wall. Loud dubstep echoed throughout the club, but he paid no mind to the music, instead taking note of each individual on the dance floor. He'd seen them all here before, but he felt no need to talk to them. They were useless to him.

Though, when that handsome blond came up to him and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, he found it hard to not acknowledge him. He stared into those blue eyes and wondered what love felt like. Instead, he settled for the kissing, the touching, and then the pushing and shoving and lifting and tugging in the bathroom stall. Pants were discarded, shirts, underwear, and then he was being fucked hard against the back tile wall. The best part was that he still had his cigarette. His mind was occupied by cases that he had to finish—each would all be a piece of cake. A hand wrapped around his member, and he found himself leaning back, feeling skin against skin.

"M'Jimmy." The blond grunted in his ear.

_"Barrow."_

* * *

"What do you plan to do?" Michael stared at her, eyes full of sympathy and then—something else. Pity? Maybe disappointed. Edith rolled her eyes and pulled her hair out of its pristine bun.

"Stay out of the spotlight for a while. I suppose I should lie low." Edith turned her attention to the television, where her image was large. The newscast title was something along the lines of: Renowned Journalist Sued for False Accusations.

"Do you want me to come with you?" He had something hopeful in his eyes.

Edith smiled ruefully, pulling off her coat. "No. Your wife would get suspicious. Now come here and give me something to remember you by."

Michael laughed in spite of this situation, tangling a hand into Edith's blond locks. He stared into her eyes and sighed heavily. "How long do you think you'll be away?"

"A couple of months—however long it takes me to be out of the tabloids. Besides, the journal will suffer." She said, taking his tie into her hands, staring into his eyes. "I'll keep writing, but under a pseudonym, of course."

"We'll manage without you. Though I'm glad to hear you won't be quitting entirely." Their faces were inching toward each other.

Suddenly, Edith's cell phone rang.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you to those who have followed this story. I'm having a blast writing it. I think you'll find all these twists and turns to be rather interesting. I've already got most of the storyline planned. Be on the lookout in the next week or so!

* * *

_I believe in nothing:_  
_Not the end and not the start._

Edith stood before a Mr. Charles Carson, a grand man who stood tall and proudly. It was rainy this London day, and the journalist couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with him staring at her with those beady eyes and bushy eyebrows. She cleared her throat, stirring her coffee. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, was it? What is this meeting about?"

"_Of course." Edith mumbled, pecking Michael's lips. She brushed her fingers over his cheek before taking her phone out of her purse. "Hello?"_

"_Miss Edith Crawley," An ominous baritone greeted. "My name is Robert Crowborough. I wish to ask a favor of you on behalf of my mother." _

"_Mr. Crowborough," A brow quirked. She knew that name. He was big in agriculture, wasn't he? She bit her lower lip and met Michael's eyes before turning away. "How can _I _help you? Especially after these circumstances –"_

"_Think of this of a way to hide away from the cruel world."_

Edith snapped out of her thoughts when Carson spoke. "I'm afraid Mr. Crowborough has a business meeting today and has sent me in his place. You see, there has been something on his mind for quite some time…" He cleared his throat, taking a quick survey of the room before turning back to the young woman before him. "You have heard of the tragic disappearance of Sybil Crowborough, yes?"

The blond recalled hearing her father and mother speaking about the disappearance of a young girl nearly twenty years ago. Her brows furrowed. "It rings a bell, however, what does this have to do with –"

"His mother, Violet Crowborough, is convinced that there is information about the disappearance that no one has found out. So they wish to hire you as a detective of sorts."

A detective? Edith took a calm sip of her drink, feeling the warmth consume her. Well, she would have nothing better to do while her name has been slandered so… If they really wanted to reach out to her, of all people, then why couldn't she do it? She rubbed a hand over her mouth, thinking. This had been just sprung up on her. How could she say yes so quickly? "Can I have some time to think about this? I mean, you've just asked me…"

"Oh, of course, Miss Crawley." Carson said rather warmly, which seemed out of his character. Edith's brow quirked but she gave him a smile. He continued, "Mr. Crowborough thought you might be hesitant, so he wanted me to tell you that you have a week to decide. All of the details will be revealed to you should you arrive at Downton in one week's time."

Edith wanted to scowl. A week was certainly not a lot of time to consider something that may take up months of her time. She only nodded in return and asked for a number that she may be able to call should she change her mind.

* * *

"I could spend the rest of my days lyin' here with you, Barrow." Jimmy said, arm around the other man, as they lay on a mattress. It was probably four in the afternoon, but Barrow had nothing better to do.

He turned to Jimmy, ghosting his finger over the other's skin, drawing little designs. Sometimes he allowed himself to be intimate, and this Jimmy fellow had gotten his attention. He hummed in response, his cold grayish blue hues meeting the blond's. He didn't smile, but there was a content expression on his face that appeased the younger.

Jimmy Kent, age twenty-six. A waiter at one of the best restaurants in London. Occasionally frequents clubs and gay-bars on the weekends. He has a troubled past, one he doesn't like to speak of. Though, Barrow guessed both of his parents were dead. Probably the war, and maybe cancer? He wore his emotions on his sleeve, really. He had already noticed that he was vain in his appearance and worried about his hair and the way he presented himself to others. Perhaps in another day and age, he would have repressed his sexual urges for men.

Barrow placed a tender kiss above the man's nipple before sitting up. "How about something to eat? I'll go get it."

"What's your real name, Barrow?"

The question was anticipated, but he didn't think the other would ask so soon. The pale man smirked and got up from the bed, reaching for his pants on the floor. He brushed his fingers through his hair, and he knew Jimmy was eying him hungrily, staring at the winged dragon tattoo on his shoulder blade. The tail curved into his neck. The tension in the room was thick as his newfound lover waited for the answer. He shrugged on a shirt before turning back to him, "Got a fag?"

"You're really not going to tell me?" Jimmy sighed heavily and reached over to grab his pack from his shirt pocket. "Come on. We've been together for days now. I think I have the right."

"Thomas."

"I mean, surely, you know more about me than—What?"

"S'Thomas. My name is Thomas Barrow. Don't forget it now, you hear?" He took the smoke from Jimmy and placed it behind his ear. The black eye shadow around his eyes was smudged, and yet it made him look even more enchanting and devious. If Jimmy wasn't hungry, he would have pulled him right back down into bed.

* * *

The wind whisked through his hair as he road his motorcycle down the streets. The rain was welcomed; Thomas enjoyed the way it dripped down his face as it road. It was almost something to cleanse him of his sins. At the stoplight, he pressed his blu-tooth earpiece and dialed a number on his phone. The cell rang as he waited for the light to turn green.

No one was picking up. Thomas went back to riding, waiting. Finally, he got a voicemail: _You've reached Edward Courtenay. Sorry, I'm not available right now…_

"Shit, c'mon." Thomas ground his teeth together and made a sharp turn, then pressed the redial button. He was met with the voicemail again. As he went to press it a third time, his phone rang. Relief washed over him. "Thought something might have happened—"

"Barrow," said Clarkson, Thomas' employer. He sighed heavily, wanting to close his eyes but knowing he needed to stay focused on the road.

"What? I'm busy—"

"Where's the research on Crawley?"

"It's in the bottom drawer of your desk."

A pause. "How the devil did it get in there?"

"I've my ways, Mr. Clarkson. Now if you'll _excuse me_—"

"The employers wish to speak to you."

Thomas let out a low growl. "When?"

"Tonight. Eight o'clock."

"I'll show up if I bloody well want to." And with that, Thomas hung up, parking the motorcycle. He rushed into an apartment building and hurried up staircase after staircase. When he reached the door to his friend's apartment, he felt a looming feeling of despair. "Hey hey," Thomas said loudly, knocking on the door. It slowly creaked open to his touch. "Fuck."

He rushed into the room to see a trail a blood. "Edward, hey!"

The body was in the bathtub. Edward's lifeless head lulled to the side. His wrists were sliced open and hanging limply. The amount of blood was enough to make Thomas sick. He slipped on his way over to the other man and felt for a pulse. His eyes widened when he felt one there, albeit week. "Don't you _fucking_ die on me –"

* * *

"I may be going to York." Edith stared at a half-naked Michael Gregson, who lay on her bed as if he had a right to it. She began undressing until she was in only her undergarments and slid under the covers next to him.

"York? What's in York?" Michael asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"For a possible job." She looked him dead in the eyes. He frowned.

"But I thought you were—"

"I may still be. However, I may not, depending on if I take the job and how time consuming it is…" Edith trailed off, brows furrowing as she looked at the ceiling. Her conversation with that Mr. Carson had frustrated her beyond belief. Michael began kissing down her neck to her collarbone, and Edith was unsure if he was trying to comfort her or start something between them. To be quite frank, she was tired; she didn't want sex that night. She turned to Michael, brushing her slender fingers through his hair, gave him a chaste kiss, and then shut the light off.

"I shall miss you terribly, Edith, should you go."

"I know you will, Michael."

"If I asked you to, would you stay?" He caressed her side.

"I'm not sure."

Michael pulled her closer, hiding his face into the crook of her neck. "It might be good for the company, though." He admitted dejectedly, tracing his finger around her stomach.

"Aha, so now you wish for me to go." Edith moved away from him. "Just admit it, Michael: I'm bad publicity."

His brows furrowed. "All publicity is good, no? I just don't want you to be cast aside, Edith. But if you do have somewhere to go…"

"So you think I should take it."

"Yes."

Edith brushed her thumb along his stubble-ridden chin and then gave him a chaste kiss. "I suppose that might be best for now. I'll think on it for a couple of days and then give Crowborough my answer."

* * *

"I'm afraid Mr. Courtenay is in critical condition," The doctor said gravely, eying the mysterious figure in the waiting room. "What is his relation to you, sir?"

Thomas had black tear streaks down his face, and there was dried blood on his shirt and hands. He had screamed himself raw at the body, begging, pleading… At least he was alive. His lower lip trembled, but he looked away and took a deep breath. "He's me cousin. He was wounded in the war—"

"And I imagine he's become severely depressed." The doctor concluded with a frown. "We will have to keep him here on suicide watch once he recovers… and then you may want to look into getting him help. We almost lost him."

"I see." Thomas murmured and then finally looked at the bill in his hands. There was no way he could pay this right now. He closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the paper before looking up at the doctor. "Thank you."

The doctor gave him a sympathetic look before walking away. But just as he got out of sight, Thomas asked: "Can I see him?"

"Ah, yes." The doctor replied and told him the room number. As Thomas made his way up to the room, he received a text message from that blond bombshell, the hungry little fucker.

From: Blondie  
_Where r u?_

Thomas scowled and wanted to throw the phone across the hallway, but he refrained because he didn't have the money to pay for a new one. He hastily typed his reply.

From: Barrow  
_Something came up._

He pocketed his phone in spite of feeling the buzz of the response and pushed open the door to see Edward Courtenay unconscious but alive. Thomas walked up to him and grabbed his hand, brushing his thumb over the other's bandages. "You stupid bastard." He said lowly, fighting tears. He ground his teeth together but brought his lips down to the other's hand, giving it a chaste kiss. "Don't scare me like that again." Thomas knew they would never be together, not in the way he wanted, but he had promised to take care of him… and he failed. He sunk into the chair beside the bed and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day.

And he didn't expect the days coming to be any better.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has become interested in this story! I may have said this last chapter, but it is a pleasure to write. I like this whole thing, so I apologize for the small hiatus on Shake It Out. This is just so intriguing and dark and mysterious... Anyways, happy reading! (I'd also like to point out that someone who's read the story pointed out that Ed Speelers played the lead in Eragon, in which he was a dragon tamer. Ahahahaaaaaaaa. I love it.)

* * *

_Wake me up inside. Wake me up inside;_  
_call my name and save me from the dark._

Richard Clarkson was a patient man, one who knew how to do his job and do it well. He had trained as a doctor but realized that it wasn't the profession he wanted in life; he wanted to help people, so he became a detective. He had a soft spot for most people, so it was no wonder that he had employed Thomas Barrow, a junkie at the time who had been in rehab in a time of need. He expected everything Barrow threw at him, and he tried to deal with the insanely intelligent degenerate as well as he could.

But it was times like this that he regretted it all. Robert Crowborough sat before him and was a patient fellow, but Richard could see that the man was losing it quickly. Beside him stood his family's private lawyer, Mr. Charles Carson. The two men had entered the office promptly at eight o'clock, and it was now nearing nine. He checked his watch and turned to the window. "I apologize. Mr. Barrow does things on his own time."

"I understand, but I do hope that his research is very thorough. We've already spoken to Miss Crawley, and it would be a shame to find out anything unpleasant…" Robert responded, a brow quirked as he relaxed in his chair. "Charlie, take a seat. I think we may be here a while."

"Mr. Crowborough," Richard addressed, rubbing a hand over his mouth, fingers brushing over his thick mustache, "I assure you, Mr. Barrow is the best at his job, far more qualified than any of my employees here."

"Then why does he not work here like a regular employee?" Carson asked, removing his jacket.

"He doesn't work well with others." Clarkson responded, eyes glued on the window. And then suddenly he saw a burst of light from a motorcycle. "And you might be put off by his appearance."

"What would his appearance have to do with his workmanship?"

That was promising. Richard turned, brows raised in curiosity. This man before him seemed like a good man, and he wondered what sort of trouble the Crowboroughs were in to require this journalist's information. As if on cue, the door opened and in entered Thomas Barrow, but the detective realized something was wrong. Thomas' eyes were wide and wild, and he looked like he had been crying.

But that didn't stop him from walking over to his desk and taking the file. "Couldn't do this without me, could you?" Thomas growled at Clarkson before turning and slamming the file down in front of Robert and Carson. He sat on the edge of the table, hands in his pockets, glaring at the two older men. "What d'you wanna know? That she's good at her job? How about the fact that she brushes her teeth with Pronamel? The only things I found about her that are unsavory," And he rolled his eyes, "is the fact that she doesn't give enough fellatio and that she has an affair with her married boss."

There was silence in the room as Robert read over the file. Thomas fingered his lip ring, trying to keep his mind off the unconscious body in the hospital room. Edward would wake early tomorrow, they said, after the blood transfusion had time to settle. The pseudo-detective hoped that this could ring in enough money for the hospital bills, but he had a deep fear that it wouldn't be. He would have to talk to his…

Robert looked up, snapping Barrow out of his thoughts. "Thank you, Mr. Barrow." He said graciously, nodding his head. "Thank you so very much. I knew Miss Crawley would have no glaring items on her record, save for this unfortunate situation with that CEO."

Thomas shrugged, as if he really cared. He was about to say something when his phone buzzed again. Rolling his eyes, he glanced down.

From: Blondie  
_Come back over tonight?_

From: Barrow  
_Why?_

He frowned, thumbing over his keyboard, before looking up at the client. "S'that it, mate? I've got things to do."

The appalled look on Carson's face was amusing. He winked at the older man before turning back to Robert. He forgot that Clarkson was watching behind him, but he imagined his boss' face to be one of stern concern. Robert eyed the young detective with a queer look in his eye, and Thomas felt scrutinized. He smiled widely though, like a cheeky little fuck, and then stood, patting Robert on the shoulder. "Good show. I'll be expectin' my check, Clarkson." He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that thousand yard stare from the white-haired man. Ah, he loved that army glare—made him feel alive.

From: Blondie  
_Because I might luv you_

He had to stop himself from laughing as he left the room, reading over the text. Oh, that poor boy. He was looking for Barrow for comfort, for love. If only the stupid bastard knew that Thomas couldn't love, that he was hardened by the world. He pinched the bridge of his nose before kicking open the door to the rainy night.

The three men sat there inside, an awkward tension in the air. Robert cleared his throat. "What an interesting chap."

Richard rolled his eyes. That wasn't even the half of it.

* * *

From: Barrow  
_Leave me alone Blondie_

From: Barrow  
_You'll get burned_

Jimmy stared at the text messages and rubbed a hand over his face. He had work tomorrow, but not until the late afternoon. He knew if Barrow wanted, he would come back. And he wanted him to so very badly. There was just something mysterious about the older man—actually, Jimmy wasn't sure how old he was, but he seemed older than him. The hardened look in his eyes made him lose all of his innocence. It had been a long time since he had any excitement in his life. His last boyfriend, Alfred, had left him for a woman. How was he supposed to compete with that? (Though, he knew Alfred had only been bi. It just wasn't fair.)

From: Blondie  
_What if I like getting burned?_

He smiled at his response. He knew the other was into that sadomasochism shit, because he cuffed Jimmy to the bed the first night they were together. And even though he hadn't done it before, the blond boy enjoyed it. It was like living on the edge, trusting a stranger with something so sacred. He wanted to go crazy, because he felt like he'd put a bullet in his brain if he didn't.

From: Barrow  
_Oh really?_

From: Blondie  
_Yeah. You could if you want._

He couldn't stop the laughter that escaped him. He must have been crazy, but these last few days have made him feel alive. He couldn't give it up without a fight. He brushed his piano fingers through his golden locks and stared into the mirror. Jimmy stared at the hickeys on his neck and remembered those black lipstick lips upon them. Ugh, was he bitten by the love bug? Or was this something else entirely?

A knock was at his front door. Jimmy tried not to get his hopes up, but he couldn't stop himself from grinning madly. He cleared his throat and opened the door. Lips attacked him, and he was pushed into the room. He chuckled against Barrow's mouth, and he grunted when he was slammed against the door. "Eager, hm?" Kent murmured, grabbing the other's wet hair.

"Shut up." Thomas growled against him, kneeing him in the crotch. He grabbed Jimmy's hands and held them over his head, attacking his neck with kissing and biting. But it didn't last. The grip weakened, and the bigger male crumpled into him.

Jimmy hesitantly wrapped his arms around him, feeling the sobs against his neck. "Barrow?" He asked, bewildered, dropping to the floor with him as the other's weight took him down. He sat there quietly, rubbing small circles as Thomas cried his heart out.

"What's wrong? Come on, you can tell me…"

But no answer came. It took some time for him to calm down, but Jimmy continued to comfort him as best as he could. Thomas' breathing slowed and he sniffled. He moved away and brushed his tears away. He ground his teeth together and pointed angrily at Jimmy. "Not a fucking word."

Kent stared at him like a lost puppy that had been scolded by his master. He pressed against the wall, almost afraid of the hurting man before him. He bit his lower lip, pondering on what exactly to do. He reached out and brushed his fingers against Thomas' cheek and offered a smile. "Hey, don't worry about it, OK? Whatever it is, it'll be OK."

The smile wasn't returned, because Thomas Barrow knew this was only the beginning.

* * *

"I'm going." Edith said to Michael as she fixed her hair in the bathroom. She could barely hear herself over the blaring television. She rolled her eyes and applied a deep purple lipstick that was beautiful against her porcelain skin. Edith's makeup was mostly natural save that lipstick, but it gave her this glow. She smiled at her reflection before exiting, placing a hand on her hip. "Well?"

Michael, however, was locked on the screen. "You're being sued."

She turned to see her enemy, John Drake, speaking at a press conference about this whole affair. Her mouth dropped aghast as he listened to the rubbish coming out of his mouth. Why hadn't her lawyer come to her? Perhaps she hadn't known. She turned off the television and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. "Well now I'm definitely going, aren't I?" She smiled ruefully, feeling the tears in her eyes. She laughed darkly, her shoulders slumping. Michael was at her side in seconds, rubbing her arms, trying to calm her.

"It'll be all right."

"He'll take every last penny," She murmured, "But I'll give it to him. I'd rather not fight this. It's terribly draining, and this new job will keep me occupied." Edith turned to him and gave him a weak smile although she was seconds from sobbing. Michael pulled her close and stroked her back, whispering sweet nothings.

"I must go." Edith finally said, pulling away from him, taking the handkerchief out of his pocket to blot her eyes. "I suggest you go back to your wife tonight while I see my family, and then we can meet again before I go up to Downton." She gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek and lingered there for just a moment longer. "I will miss you, Michael."

"And I you, Edith… and I you."

* * *

Edith Crawley had a daughter, young Hilary Gordon. The girl had just graduated from primary school, and tonight was a party in her honor. Though, Edith had a disconnect with her daughter after the divorce. Although she and her ex-husband, Peter Gordon, had shared custody of the girl, she preferred to stay with her father. Sometimes Edith didn't blame her.

The girl was now off to the side, reading the Bible of all things, ignoring the guests. Edith tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and approached the girl, taking a seat. She smiled half-heartedly. "I never took you for the religious type, Hilly."

"Please don't call me that," the preteen responded, eying her mother with contempt before returning to her bible. "… and you would know if you were around more often." She mumbled under her breath, but Edith had heard her. It struck a cord.

"For what it's worth, my dear girl, I am sorry."

"Only now you're sorry." Hilary responded all knowingly, like she had all the answers. And at this age she truly thought she did. "Now that you're in big trouble, you probably wish you had a family to comfort you in your time of need."

She bit her lower lip and clutched the glass of wine in her hand tightly. A smile was branded across her face, though, as she stared at the girl who hated her so. "I'm sorry I wasn't very much involved in your life, Hilary. But I do wish the best for you." She began before taking a large sip of wine, "And I will always be behind you. Even though I am in a tough spot right now, I do not wish for you or your father to pity me. So don't worry yourself." And with that, she stood and walked away.

"Dear Edith," a voice said behind her. She turned to see one Anthony Strallan, an old friend from university. He gave her a tentative smile before taking her aside, leaning forward, "I heard of your situation. Then again, I think everyone here has. Maude and I wonder what will become of you. We do hope you'll be all right."

"As a matter of fact," said she, seeing Peter glance at her hesitantly having overheard her. "I have a project that I'll be working on after all my money has been cleaned out. Though I do hope to be paid handsomely and put Mr. Drake behind me."

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Peter had this look of worry on his face that Edith remembered quite well. It was the look he had when she said she wanted a divorce. He worried so much about her, and she knew she did not deserve his love. She never had. If he had only known that she had cheated on him back then…

Edith gave him such a smile that she saw the relief wash over his features. She walked over to him and took his hand before turning to address the small crowd around her. "I assure you all I will be fine." At least she hoped so. She remembered that stern look on Mr. Carson's face, but she couldn't get that girl Sybil out of her head. What did it all have to do with the present day? Some evidence had been found, really? She wondered how she would fit into all of this, but it would be something to clear her mind.

Edith was ready to move on with her life, and this was her chance.


End file.
